We walked to and from the hospital again today, where we visited with the nurses and doctors while we talked about my favorite subject: Me. My numbers are again up (mostly): hemoglobin down to 8 from 10 yesterday, my leukocytes (white blood cell count) is up again from 0.3 to 0.5, they could actually get a measure on my absolute neutrophile count (ANC) at 0.08, and my platelets are 44,000 up from 36,000. These are the building blocks of my new immune system and they appear to be growing on their own. As with the hemoglobin status, though, there will likely be some set-backs. By the way, the ANC is the number of the new “good guys” the cells who fight off infections.
Of course the doctors and nurses are not happy with the tendency of my blood press to drop when I stand up and wonder why I don’t get dizzy and fall down. They want me to drink more fluids. Basically, I may not be physically able to ingest all the fluid they want me to and my protein levels leave a lot to be desired. Who would think it could be so difficult to eat good food?
I decided to make this Sunday memorable.
Upon return from the early hospital visit, I decided to make breakfast for Marian and me. I found some bacon and started a few slices bubbling and crisping in a pan, while I whipped up some pancakes (I use Bisquick as a base), but only half a regular batch. A little juice, a cup of coffee, and breakfast is served. Well, the bacon survived OK, but the pancakes were a disaster because I failed to reduce by half the amount of milk. I thickened the batter with more mix, but the mixture was not right. The cookware has to be washed as soon as you use it, so Marian was delayed getting to the table. The pancakes were only lukewarm, the bacon was cold, and after the first mouthful, I discovered that I can add pancakes to my current list of foods I cannot taste. The bacon was marginally flavorful. I do believe that Marian was singularly unimpressed with my competence in the kitchen and underwhelmed by the dimness of my dazzle in the dinning room.
I guess this Sunday will be memorable.
Too Much Me?
Something I mentioned earlier struck me as a source of problems for any patient with a serious illness: Everything becomes about you. Everyone asks how you are and really seems to want to know. Your stories about your medical problems become so much more interesting than you old stories about your aches and pains. People are kinder: They stop to let you cross the street and they open the door for you. People you don’t even know smile and ask, “How’s it going?”
I remember, when I was home sick, how nice it was when my Mom made my favorite comfort food...Campbell’s Tomato Soup...with real milk instead of half-water. I could have a cookie any time of the day, for only the asking. My brothers and sister had to be nice to me although they would rather have short-sheeted my bed. Even my Dad grumbled a softer grumble, something vaguely about getting well soon because of the medical bills.
Although, I know that I am right to focus on fighting for my life, my world tends to microcosm about me and my struggle. I fear to get lost inside the battle, and in the process forget those who disrupt their lives and make sacrifices so that I may live longer. I fear to take for granted the good wishes and prayers of my friends. Maybe that is why I am driven to say thank you so much...because I have little to offer but my thanks and maybe a little insight.
There is a dark side to the shiny new coin...
Although I celebrate each and every day and welcome each and every positive step, there are desperate hours and moments when I lie abed in the dark and cry. There are bright mornings when I want only to stay still, stay warm, stay alive. I have dark dreams and darker moods when I lash out at Marian or myself and she catches some of the vitriol. And there is the fatigue, a constant reminder that I could easily just doze off in my recliner and never open my eyes again. There is no Balm in Gilead for one lost in pain and facing the very real possibility of death.
That is the harsh reality of every cancer patient who has faced what I face. That is the dark side of the coin. Unlike so many others, I feel there is daylight and purpose and love at the end of the journey, no matter how dark, how vertiginous, or how painful each step may be. I know I will not make it alone, I am not strong enough for that, and I must remember in all the focus on ME, that there will be no me without friendship, prayers, and love from you all.
My dream is to reach a day when you all will smile and tell me to shut up about my medical problems, so I can finally pay attention to your medical problems.
The day ended on a good note. One our long-time friends and a schoolmate of Marian’s dropped by for a visit. She had a chance to go out for dinner and some time away from me. Good for her and good for me (less guilt).
I plan to take it easy tonight and listen closely to see if I can hear those little stem cells engrafting.
Thanks for your kind communications, funny stories, cards, and e-mails. Thanks for your prayers, wishes, and good thoughts.
God bless,
Mick